A Winter Hunting Trip
by Bulldust
Summary: Saba has had enough. It was time for her mate to take care of their son like a proper father should.


" _Get!"_

The dark gray wolf was sent running with a bite from the other male, a much larger brute with a beige coat. He snarled and snapped his yellowing teeth at the younger male, who in turn flinched and slinked away with his tail tucked. The rest of the pack were much more cautious around the brown wolf, only daring to eat the very edges of the carcass. The pack had made their first successful hunt after a weak of failures, and they were ravenous. No one more than Fearghus, the brown male and head of the pack. He was territorial and more competitive than a bull, and quickly took over the young elk they had killed. Times were hard during that cold winter, and he only allowed his mate Saba and yearling daughters to eat, leaving nothing for his son. The young male had curled up away from the carcass, no fight in him. Even though he and the other males of the pack had helped to take down the elk they were banished from the kill until Fearghus and his chosen females had had their fill.

Fearghus's bloodied head was bright in the midday sun as he and the she wolves tore the calf apart. It was smaller than an adult cow and could barely feed the back. Some of the males decided to go and look for old caches to eat, others contemplated leaving altogether. They were a decently sized pack, a little over a dozen adults. They would be larger and stronger if their alpha wasn't so aggressive. Most of the males of the pack left early on, too sick of his ways to even bother putting up with him. Some of the females left as well, the main consensus being that they wanted pups of their own and their father didn't want some dispersal to join and take the den.

The dark male sighed, resting his chin on the snow as he watched the food get taken from him yet again. He longed for the days when he was a pup and he could eat with his parents and siblings at the carcass. Those days seemed like so long ago, when it was only a few months. Now he and his littermates were running with the pack and hunting down prey, and their father had begun to see them as competition. Moreso _him_ , as competition. He was the only male in the litter and had no one to relate this treatment to. The other males were much older and were used to this behavior, and his older brothers had already dispersed last month. The only one who he could really talk to were his yearling sister Malei and his mother, who were both eating. The carcass was stripped down to only skin and bones when the alpha's company was finished, and the rest of the pack chewed on the scraps. The young wolf didn't even try to pick at the remains, knowing it was only a waste of time.

The large alpha male gave a huge yawn and a stretch, before falling down on his side with a tired thump. While the yearling daughters conversed, Malei saw this as an opportunity to tackle Fearghus. She charged at him and leapt onto their father's exposed flank, knocking the air out of him with a wheeze. Instead of any aggressive retaliation or punishment, the male pawed and wrestled back lazily.

The dark yearling watched them with a pang of sadness, and just a touch of envy. Malei had always been thier father's favorite. She inherited his brown coat and his outgoing personality, and in return he always gave her special treatment. He shook off his jealousy; it wasn't Malei's fault. She had always been such a strong spitfire, and she would lead a great pack of her own one day. His sister's successfulness overshadowed him in the pack. Everyone knew Malei for her wit and skills, and everyone only knew him as Stom, the alpha's quiet son. He inherited nothing from his father, and only got his mother's dark coat. Said she wolf had been grooming her daughters when she noticed Stom sulking, and she stood up and moved towards him in a fluid motion.

He tucked his ears back and gave his tail a little wag when she approached him. Saba gave his face a light nuzzle and laid down next to him, grooming his fur. He gave a soft whine and leaned into her touch. She took notice of her son's discomfort, "What is wrong Stom, have you eaten today?" He gave another softer whine and tucked his head onto his mother's paws. She gave a low rumble in concern, nosing his coat. He hadn't had a decent meal in over a week, and with the luck he'd been having, he probably wouldn't eat for a fortnight. She gave a growl in concern when she found he'd gotten thinner. She gave him a firm look with her soft gray eyes.

"You should not let your father bully you my son," she growled at him, and then softened her tone when he winced. "Fearghus is the leader of the pack, but you are also his son. He has no right to exile you from the food you help hunt." He gave a small nod and looked down. She continued to groom his ears as he nosed his face into her warm chest.

Before they knew it the day had passed and the sun began to make its descent beyond the mountains, casting the sky and the snow in a warm glow. The pack had moved away from the remains and had travelled to the highlands to rest for the night. Fearghus had been sniffing out their old den Saba used for many years. He wanted more pups to rear in the spring, and intended to spend every waking moment with his mate.

The black she wolf walked with Stom to find a suitable place to rest when Fearghus approached. He curled his lip at the yearling in warning, who was quick to move away. Saba stepped in front of her son with a growl, "Fearghus, why hasn't your son been eating."

The alpha stopped with a snort, "Look at him, he's much too old to be fed like a pup. He must learn his place in the pack."

"No, _you_ look." She growled firmly, standing tall. "He's getting too thin to survive the winter, he needs to have a proper meal or else he'll get sick." Stom gave a peek at his father around Saba. He looked surprised, then angry.

"You know the rules, no males eat at the carcass. And he is not above that rule."

"It is a ridiculous rule only designed so you keep the food for yourself. Stom was the only male in the litter this year, he deserves to eat with his sisters."

"Saba," He sighed, growing impatient. "He has grown big enough that he can take care of himself. Think of the rest of the pack. Think of the pups you'll get next spring." He stepped closer attempting to nuzzle fur.

The black she wolf snapped at the air by his ear in warning, pushing off his affections. "No, I will not have another litter next spring. Not until you can take care of your current litter." She nudged Stom forward a bit so he stood beside her, facing his brutish father.

The alpha male's face was shocked at her deadpan reply. He shook off his confusion in favor of aggression. He wanted to have another litter, and his deplorable son was stopping him. He gave a low growl directed towards Stom, and the yearling shrank away from his anger, "Go hunt yourself a hare and leave us alone. _Now_."

He was about to disappear when his mother's calm tone stopped him. "I will not be spending time with you Fearghus, not until I know Stom has a warm meal in him. You two are going on a hunting trip alone. I'll look over the pack while you are away."

"There's no way two wolves can hunt alone. We wouldn't be able to take anything down."

"You and I used to hunt when we were younger, this should be no different." She dismissed her mate and turned to lick Stom's muzzle in comfort, "You two are not to come back until you've eaten a warm meal. If I smell no fresh elk or deer on you, I'm sending you two out again."

The yearling had a lot of mixed feelings; he was promised a meal, but his _father_ would be the one to feed him. His father, who gets territorial around food. He felt his stomach sink to his toes.

Fearghus looked ready to blow a fuse. He growled and paced in front of the dark wolves, his massive paws kicking up loose snow. He was about to try to argue with Saba until he saw the look on her face. She had a determined glare that meant she wasn't taking no for an answer. The alpha male lowered his head in a defeated growl, glaring at his son, "Fine." With a wave of his tail he turned and stomped down towards the lowlands, with Stom trotting behind him.

The pair walked in single file with the brown alpha in the lead. The larger male made sure to stay on used trails to save energy. As for Stom, the dark male walked behind Fearghus to make sure he didn't get bit out of spite. He heard his father was a great hunter in his prime, able to sniff out and hunt just about anything. But now he was older, and was used to having his pack to help bring down prey. Not to mention that he began to put on some weight, but no one dared to tell him that. Night had fallen and the crisp glow from the moon set the forest allight. It was silent and dead, save for the occasional bird. It was an incredibly boring walk, and Stom barely paid attention, lost in his thoughts.

He ended up walking straight into Fearghus's rear, the latter turning to bare his teeth at the yearling. They carried on, walking through the woodland slopes until they reached the dip in the valley. Stom perked up and sniffed, but found no fresh scents. He turned expectantly to Fearghus, who was pawing something. Curious, the yearling approached to look. His father was digging snow, not a deep hole but a shallow dip. The alpha then walked inside and sat down, curling into a ball. He tucked his tail over his muzzle and closed his eyes. Stom stood there in bemusement, waiting. After a solid minute he gave a soft whine.

Fearghus opened his eyes with a sigh, "What."

"Aren't we supposed to.. be hunting?" He asked in a soft voice.

Fearghus growled and moved his tail off his face, annoyed. "As you can clearly see, there is nothing to hunt." Stom gave another whine in question, and his father began to grow impatient. "What are you, a pup? We chased the herd and separated a calf, scaring the herd away. And right after we killed it we rallied, scaring off everything else."

Stom sat down with a confused look, "Why did we rally when we knew we'd scare everything away?"

" _That's the point!_ " The brown wolf snapped at him, teeth bared. Stom flinched from his outburst, and the older male quieted his voice. "We want outside wolves and other predators to know we are a strong pack, who can hunt for ourselves. We call to protect our home and resources. Now go to sleep, there won't be any prey tonight." The brown male then curled himself again and ignored his son. Stom watched him for a few moments, before laying down in the snow next to him. He shuffled a little closer to his father, who growled in warning, and then shuffled back. It was a cold and lonely night for both of them.

Stom blinked awake in the dawn light, confused. Where was the pack? And why was he awake so early? He turned his head to see his father sitting up and looking out across the woodlands, observing something. The brown male turned an ear towards his son ins acknowledgement, before standing with a huff and trotting towards the lowlands. Stom scrambled to his feet and bounded after the male. The two moved at a quickened pace towards.. A snowbank.

Stom felt like crying.

His father ignored him in favor of nosing the torn up trenches in the snow. After a few moments he growled in a soft tone, "Look. Smell it." Stom approached the dug up snow to see a few chewed stems of grass. He gave it a sharp sniff and recoiled, head snapping back. He almost hurled on the spot. "That, Stom, is the smell of decay. If you smell it again you will find that the stems were broken recently."

More cautious this time, the yearling sniffed the roots. He was right, under the stench of rot he found the fresh yet faint scent of cut grass. He turned to the alpha with a scrunched nose, "You could have just told me something came here earlier."

"You have to learn how to track your prey pup." The older male growled, "You can smell sickness in the scat too." Stom gave him an incredulous look. His father grunted and moved on, not bothering to wait for his son.

They two of them walked along in silence. Any time Stom tried to ask a question he was met with a tail slap to the face. Eventually he stopped talking altogether and followed Fearghus, blind and confused. He sighed and lowered his head, this wasn't going anywhere. He watched his father's mismatched tracks as they walked on. There was something off about them, they didn't look all wolf..

He nearly smacked his head into his father's rump again when the brown male suddenly stopped, ears pushed forward and stance lowered. Stom peeked around the male to see what he was looking at. A couple hundred yards ahead of them was a bull elk with a couple of cows. Unfortunately, there were no calves, and all the cows looked healthy. The wolves scanned the herd until they found the source of the sickness. The bull.

It wasn't as bulky as the others, although it still had its autumn rack it lacked the muscular shoulders to wield them. In its right shoulder was an old deep gash. A quick sniff told Stom that wound was infected and festering.

He could only get a glance in when a cow barked an alarm and sent the small herd running through the trees. Fearghus kicked off and pounded after them, leaving Stom covered in snow and scrambling to catch up. His skinny legs couldn't make more than a dent in the snow and he quickly fell behind. His father on the other hand, had managed to catch up with the sickened bull and snapped at its flank. The elk cried out and brushed him off, tearing skin and blood. Fearghus managed to get one more bite to the thigh in before he was kicked off, tumbling into the snow. He staggered to his feet panting as his son caught up. Stom was about to chase after them before the alpha gave him a firm bark to halt.

The herd disappeared and their footsteps began to fade. "They're getting away," he panted, ears swivelling back on his head. Their only chance of food was gone.

Fearghus gave a snort, "What did you expect would happen. Did you honestly think the two of us could stop a running bull by ourselves, especially when one wolf can't even catch up?" He snarled at his son, who in turn lowered his head. He saw how his father was favoring his left leg more and gave a whine.

"You're hurt," Stom whimpered, stepping closer to try and groom it.

Fearghus growl and nipped the yearling's muzzle, "Enough. It is a simple bruise, now come on," He pointed his nose towards the blood trail, which was a striking red in the morning sunlight, "we've got a bull to track."

The two walked on, side by side, following the tracks and blood of their prey. Fearghus used the herd's trail to lumber through, meanwhile Stom was bounding through the snow with a heavy pant. After a few more moments of harsh panting the older male growled, "What are you doing?"

Stom stopped plowing through the snow, breathing hard, "I'm trying to see if I can spot the herd."

"The herd is long gone," Fearghus snorted, and then growled, "and all you're doing is wasting energy. Now quit leaping like a hare and use the _trails that were already made!_ "

The yearling quickly stumbled towards the closest trail and started walking alongside his father at a steadier gait. The two of them walked on for many hours, following the winding tracks that seemed to separate, yet stay together. The sun began to make its way towards the horizon, giving them only a few hours of light left. The yearling was about to give a whine, until they spotted them. The herd had made it out of the treeline and were grazing in the shrubland, kicking up snow with their strong legs to get to the frozen grass underneath. Only the bull wasn't digging, instead favoring the the easier shrubs to snip off any stems. Stom crouched down low, creeping forward towards the weakened bull. He tried his best to stalk the herd but to no avail. The cows heard his crunching steps and ran off yet again, the bull trailing behind. Stom raced after them through the trails but they were too far ahead. He slowed to a stop, barely a dozen yards out of the treeline. Frustration caused his fur to itch and he gave a soft growl. He turned to see Fearghus sitting under a tree, not even bothering to help with the chase.

Stom gave a growl, "What was that about falling behind?" The older male's snort did nothing but anger him more. He snapped at him, "You were supposed to help, and now the herd is gone again! Why are you just sitting th-"

The wind was knocked out of the dark wolf and he felt teeth on his muzzle. Fearghus had him pinned to the ground, biting down on his snout to silence him, " _Don't speak to me that way you insolent whelp!_ "

Stom cried out and tucked his tail onto his stomach. "'m sorry," he whimpered, fearful of getting bit again.

Fearghus stopped growling and let off the younger male, licking his brown muzzle as he began walking off. Stom slinked after him without question as the two of them stuck to the trees, avoiding the herd. His face ached, but his father's bite didn't break skin. He decided not to try the older wolf's patience and kept his head lowered, trailing behind the alpha. Every once in a while Fearghus would stop by a tree and mark it, and the yearling did the same without a word. The pair travelled through the forest as dusk fell, darkening the area. Stom paid little attention to his surroundings, still stuck on his fight with Fearghus to focus. The two stopped, and Stom was surprised to see they had returned to the same shrubland treeline, and then dismayed to see the herd was nowhere in sight.

"The herd is still gone," his soft voice showed his sadness.

Fearghus gave a scoff, "Of course they're gone, only a fool would return to their hunters," he gave a pause, "It's better that they're on the move anyway, we have to tire them out, especially that bull."

Stom sat down with a quizzical look, "Why don't you chase them with me?"

His father gave him a disapproving glare, "The wind. If you would have paid attention you would have known that the wind was blowing towards the herd. They could smell you from a ways off. And did you honestly think you'd get anywhere with that pathetic stalk of yours, hm? With your black coat on white open ground? Even if the wind was blowing towards us they would have spotted you."

Stom looked down at his paws in shame. He had a point. He lifted his head towards the direction the herd ran off to, "If we want them to move then why aren't we going after them?"

"Because," his father started, walking towards the shrubland, "You fancy yourself a cougar with that pathetic pounce of yours. We will not continue the chase until you get it into that dense skull of yours that you're a wolf. And wolves are meant to run."

The yearling followed the older male to see a flock of hares ahead of them, grazing in the trenches left by the elk. Although they were white, their shaded bodies and casting shadows made them easy to track in the dying light. They must have come here when the two of them went marking. Stom saw his father lie down in the snow in the corner of his eye. He heard a growl, "No then, go and catch yourself a hare. You need to learn how to hunt in the snow."

Stom looked at his father, who gave him a dismissive sniff. He turned back towards the hares. They looked small enough to catch, and they weren't dangerous like elk were. He slid into a crouch, this would be easy.

His first mistake was underestimating them. His second mistake was thinking stalking would do him any good. His loud footsteps gave him away again and they booked it, kicking snow up and leaving the dark wolf in their dust. The yearling galloped after them in a dead sprint, trying to catch up. Every time he was even a yard close to them they changed directions that sent him tumbling.

Fearghus watched his son run far and wide around the plains, trying to catch one of them. He gave a snort. It was hard enough catching a hare as a pack, and even harder when alone. But it was a good lesson for the pup. He needed to stop watching the cats hunt their prey and run like a real wolf. He was nowhere near as good as his sisters when it came to hunting, or anything in general. He was just too slow and couldn't keep pace.

He gave a chuff when the yearling ran into a bush, narrowly missing a hare. His humor subsided as he saw how tired the young wolf had become, watching the yearling pant and trudge along. Perhaps he was being too hard on the pup. Saba was right, he did look thin. And if he could see how skinny his son was, other packs would too, and see it as a sign of weakness.

He frowned as he mulled over his thoughts, not noticing the yearling walking back towards him. He was surprised to see Stom had a hare in his jaws, although it was a fairly small one. Thin and weak, just like him. Stom gave is father a glance, then trotted off towards the trees to eat. It was pack law that all wolves had the right to eat the food they hunted themselves. He didn't bother taking it from his son. He watched his son eat the pathetic hare in the trees, his dark coat blending into the shadows. They can finally go back now, and yet.. Fearghus swung his large head towards where the herd had gone; Stom was still too thin.

Stom was busying himself with ripping the hare apart. He was thrilled and proud of himself to catch something by himself. And since he ate he can finally go back to the pack and out of his father's fur. When there was nothing but tufts of white left he stood up and bounded up to Fearghus, ready to leave.

The alpha stood up with a low yawn and stretched out his forelegs. He gave huff, "Come on then, lets go." Stom nodded and began trotting back towards the woodlands, looking for the pack's scent. After a minute he paused to find he couldn't hear his father's footsteps. He turned to see Fearghus was heading in the opposite direction, towards the herd.

Confused Stom raced back towards the brown male's side, "Aren't we going back to the pack?"

"Is a hare really all it takes to satisfy you?"

"Well, no-"

"Then come on, we've got to find our quarry," The older male panted, trotting along the elk's trail. "Besides, Saba would tan my hide if she learned that you only ate a measly hare."

Stom gave a snort at that and trotted after Fearghus, helping him search for the herd.

The bull had stopped bleeding, and all they had to rely on were the tracks in the moonlight. They seemed to walk for hours, and Stom was beginning to grow tired. That hare had energized him for a while, but the constant tracking and running over the last few days made his legs ache and his sides heave. He was about to ask Fearghus if they should rest for the night when the older male stopped, flattening his ears and hunching down. Stom followed suit and crept next to him to see the herd far off near the frozen river. They seemed to be resting, with some adults grazing. Only the bull was lying in the snow, exhausted. The land was wide and open with few bushes and shrubs dotting the landscape.

Fearghus lifted his nose to the air to judge the wind direction, and then slowly made his way towards the herd. It was a painstakingly slow process, but it was much easier for them under the cover of night. Their forms blended in with the surrounding bushes, making them almost imperceptible to their prey's eyes. They were about thirty yards off when Fearghus broke into a run, with Stom following suit. The yearling made his strides as long as possible to fly over the heavy snowdrifts. It took a few seconds for the herd to notice the two wolves barreling at them, giving the males just enough time to catch up.

The bull elk staggered to its feet and ran in a broken gait, the wolves easily caught up to it and separated it from the herd. The cows ran along downstream and the bull was forced to cross the river. It bounded for the shallow end, but it's heavy body broke through the thin ice. It crashed into the dark waters with a call of alarm, trying to get its head above the ice. Fearghus barked at his son cut it off, and Stom raced across the ice. He skidded as soon as his paws landed on the smooth surface and broke through dips at some points, but he made it across safely.

The bull managed to get back up onto its feet to see his exits blocked; a wolf on each bank and surrounded by icy waters. Frozen by fear and the cold the sickened bull stood there, the cold sluggish waves lapping at its knees.

Stom took a step towards the bull, but was stopped by a deep bark, "Stop. let it stand there and freeze."

The yearling did as he was ordered, standing on the snowy banks and watching their prey. The bull kept its form tall, with its head up in a defensive stance to try to intimidate them, but its wounds and thin frame made it look pitiful. The yearling watched the dark blood from reopened cuts and water drip from its hide into the murky pool. Its long legs protected it from the cold river, but it was already drenched. Stom sat down, patient.

They watched the bull for hours. No one moved from their places. Stom was beginning to lose his sense of time as he stared into the bull's tired eyes. Any time the bull moved to make a dent in the ice the wolves sprang to their feet, ready to attack. Over time the elk began making headway in the ice, chiseling it away with its sharp hooves. It only stopped when it realized the water got deeper, almost creeping to its chest. It backed up and resumed its original position in the shallows. Its heavy antlered head was no longer tall and intimidating, but slumped over and exhausted.

The dark wolf watched the elk, lost in thought. He eyed its sharp, scarred antlers and its old infected shoulder wound. This bull must have fought long and hard to get that harem of cows last autumn. And it cost it its life. The young wolf turned his gaze to his father, thoughtful.

The standoff dragged on until the soft rosy sky of dawn kissed the sky. Stom gave a yawn, lying down on the banks. This was the longest hunt he had ever been on, especially with only two wolves. It would be fine if he just rested his eyes for a bit, the bull wasn't going anywhere.

The bull eyed the resting yearling, head raised. It bunched its hindquarters up and sprang, leaping towards the other side of the river.

Stom scrambled to his feet as the bull crashed through the ice and water onto the banks, making a break for it. The dark wolf ran after it and bit down on its hind leg, tripping it. The elk dropped to its knees and managed to give Stom a kick to the face. There was no power in the kick, but there was enough force to send the yearling packing with a cry. The bull staggered to its feet, only to be knocked down again by the much larger Fearghus. The brown male had his jaws clamped firmly on the elk's throat, dragging it down at such an angle that it couldn't kick. The wolf pressed the elk's head down, flipping it onto its side. Stom trotted up a second later and snapped onto the elk's side, careful to avoid the legs this time. The bull forced out choked bleats in desperation, kicking its legs out weakly. Fearghus kept the dying bull still as his son tugged at its side, ripping new deeper wounds and meat.

Their prey grew weaker with every drop of blood lost until it was still, body going limp. Dropping the head Fearghus moved towards the under belly, ripping its abdomen apart with heated aggression. Stom flinched back from his father's frenzy, shying away from the carcass. The alpha paused, looking at the yearling with his blood soaked face. The young wolf had his lip busted open that still openly bled, and he looked worn out. After a moment he beckoned him over to eat. Stom paused for a moment, then ran up to his father's side, digging into the abdominal cavity to get to the nutritious organs. Fearghus obliged and made room. He would let him eat with his sisters and Saba, until the new litter arrived. Stom was a young male, and would grow up to be competition, but he was also his son. It was his duty to make sure he grew up strong.

They gorged themselves on the fresh meat until the sky was bright with the coming day. Stom was stuffed, lying on his side with his belly distended. He almost felt like puking. He couldn't remember the last time he had been this full. Fearghus was busying himself with cleaning the blood off his fur while his son lay comatose a few feet away. The yearling was tired, full, and ready to sleep for two days. He was drifting away towards the fogs of slumber when his father shook him awake with a guttural howl. He lifted his head to see the brown male sitting up and calling out.

"Isn't it a bad idea to rally?" Stom mumbled, flopping down again.

Fearghus gave a snort, "Did you forget we have a whole pack to feed as well."

The older male continued his long drawn out calls, with Stom howling along too from where he was lying. After a few calls they were answered with a distant yet familiar rally. Stom gave one more call and then rested his head. He was too tired to howl, let alot clean all the blood off him. His father kept calling until the pack finally stopped, and he settled himself down beside the elk to wait. Stom was thankful for the silence and soon enough drifted off.

Distant barking made the dark male rouse from his slumber. He blinked in the sharp light of the midday sun to see his father across the river greeting the pack. Stom pulled himself up with a yawn and a stretch to greet the pack as they bounded across the river. The pack ran past him, ignoring him in favor of the food. He felt a bit disheartened until Malei trotted up and bite his ear playfully. He nipped her back with a wag of his tail and she returned to the carcass.

Stom sat and watched his family tear into the carcass; everyone was there except for his parents. He looked around to find them sitting farther away from the pack, in each other's company. Fearghus was nuzzling the black she wolf's neck and shoulder, his great bushy tail wagging. Saba was grooming his face when Stom caught her eye. She left the alpha male to go greet her son.

She went to nuzzle his cheek, but paused, sniffing in concern, "Stom, why is your face filthy."

Stom brushed off her concern with a sheepish smile, "It's fine don't worry about it." Her face was deadpan, not believing a word he said. He pushed his ears back, slightly anxious, "It's all from the elk its fine."

Another deadpan from his mother. "I see you have a cut on your lip."

"I-uh, well you see-"

"He's fine Saba, he only got a minor scrape when we took down the bull," A low grumble from Fearghus announced his presence, and the larger male pressed himself up onto the she wolf's side. She ignored her mate yet again to clean off Stom's fur.

None of the males bothered with putting up a fight; if there was something out of line in the pack no one could stop the black she wolf from mending it. The trio laid down together, warming their coats in the winter sunlight. Stom yawned and nestled his head into Saba's chest as she groomed his fur. Fearghus had snuggled up behind her with his head on her shoulders. Leave it to Saba to help unite their little family.

Author's Note: Stom has entered the arena. Saba and Malei don't have a wiki yet but you can check out these boys here:

/c/wolfquest/page/user/bulldust-is-busy/JJBm_EXI0fV7pM6J5dJ8mmDxL8BerXB6dWHm


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